


Centered

by AgentScully (Crowfeathers)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Tattooed Sam, Tattoos, falcon - Freeform, hopefully all to come in the next week or so, i have so many sam/steve feels and i dont really even ship them that hard, these dorks are going to be the end of me I can tell, this is probably going to be 3-4 chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowfeathers/pseuds/AgentScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On his back between his shoulder blades was a replication of Captain America’s famous shield, rendered in black ink and shaded so that it appeared to be gleaming." </p><p>Sam has a Captain America tattoo, he got it when he was young. He didn't anticipate becoming real life best friends (and more) with the actual Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Icarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QLaLa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLaLa/gifts).



> This is going to develop into a multi-chapter fic with more feels than I originally intended, based on youcantcancelquidditch's tags on a tumblr post. 
> 
> The post with her tags is here: http://youcantcancelquidditch.tumblr.com/post/92205266746/pierceaholic-imagine-person-a-of-your-otp
> 
> Edit: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this already! Im working hard to get the new chapter up soon. I just have to figure out how to squash my muse into something useful and productive.

    Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wanted to be macho about this. He was 20 years old and he was going to be in the goddamn air force in two days, he should be able to get a tattoo without tearing up. He silently berated himself as he cried out when the needle grazed over his spinal cord, dead center between his shoulders. After what seemed like way too long, the lanky man wielding the ink gun put it down and stood up, proclaiming the image done and handing Sam a mirror to go check it out.

 

     As he examined his new addition Sam’s drinking buddies clapped him on the shoulder (some painfully close to the tattoo) and told him that he was a real patriot now, fully equipped to serve his country. On his back between his shoulder blades was a replication of Captain America’s famous shield, rendered in black ink and shaded so that it appeared to be gleaming.

 

    Sam smiled. With this on his back, the symbol of a man who had been his hero and his motivation since he was a boy, he felt like he really could do anything.

 

    When he got into the EXO-7 Falcon program, he and Riley had still been full of that optimism. Ready to take on anything, they had volunteered to strap prototype wings to their backs and attempt to fly. It was a recklessness reserved only for Icarus and boys who have yet to see the truth of war.

 

    The moment he put on the Falcon suit he noticed immediately that the place where the wings balanced themselves when he spread them, a comfortable and solid weight on his back, is the same place where his tattoo rests.

    

    As he and Riley took off for the first time, giddy with the thrill of it, Sam remembers the feeling of  the base of the wings against his tattoo. He remembers that a single word flit through his mind before it and everything else was lost to the euphoria of that first flight.

     He thought, “Centered.”

 

    Much later, as he stands over the coffin of his dearest friend, he grimly remembers something he had said as he had stood triumphant in a dingy tattoo parlor in Harlem, long before Icarus flew too close and his optimism was lost with the explosion of an RPG:

     “Alright, Afghanistan,Captain America’s got my back. Bring it on.”

 

     He feels anything but centered now.


	2. On Your Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter has arrived! I apologize for the delay, I had to whip my muse into shape, it's very unruly. 
> 
> Thanks so much to Ray (Shadowed_Voices) for being my awesome Beta! (she puts up with all my stubbornness in this and everything else and encourages me to actually write things and I am very grateful)
> 
> Also a belated thank you to Brooke (chewbaccafarian on tumblr) for always giving me ideas with this and also not being mad when I do things like forget that most people sleep at 2am and text her trying to get her to give me feedback

   By the time he actually meets Steve Rogers, Sam is making a pretty decent recovery from the wreck he was right after Afghanistan. He’s still having a hard time finding things to fight for, reasons to wake up, but his work at the VA center helps a little. Sam has always been his happiest when he feels like he’s helping someone else. If he stopped to think about it, he would probably realize that’s also the reason why losing his sense of purpose hurt so much when Riley died, but he doesn’t stop to think about it. He fears that if he pauses he’ll lose his forward momentum.

  
  


   This is part of the reason why this one morning ( fateful, the romance writers might call it) finds him in front of the Washington Memorial, running until his heartbeat pounds louder and faster than his thoughts. As with almost every big moment in life, the catalyst of this one occasion is something very small and unimportant until more closely observed.

  
  


   Sam’s feet hit the concrete at regular intervals, he breaths in and out with the pace of someone who’s trained to run long distances, and another man jogging the same route passes him with a polite mutter.

  
  


   “On your left.”

  
  


   He doesn’t really look up as the man passes him. He just moves over a tiny bit on the pavement and keeps running, only barely registering the grey athletic shirt and blonde hair.

  
  


   The second time he takes more notice, mostly due to the fact that there is  no way anyone could lap him  that fast. This time he looks up, expression saying  you have got to be freaking kidding me  loud and clear. He watches the man run by and then his eyes widen as his brain finally puts the pieces together. Blonde hair, massive shoulder to waist ratio, arms the size of small trees, has super strength and stamina: yep, that was definitely Captain America.

  
  


   Sam had, of course, heard about it when they had found the super-soldier in the ice. The whole world had been in an uproar, you couldn’t turn on a TV for months without hearing about “The Triumphant Return of America’s Hero”. Sam had initially fostered a flicker of boyish excitement upon first hearing the news, but his new, more cynical brain had quickly reminded him that America’s Hero couldn’t bring Riley back from the dead or fix the things he’d seen and done in Afghanistan. The boyish excitement had dimmed to slight wonder, and after awhile he had gotten used to hearing the names Steve Rogers and Captain America in the news and on the tabloids.

  
  


   Now seeing the man in the flesh, Sam regains a bit of that old wonder, and suddenly he can almost feel his tattoo resting on his back. When he had gotten it done it had been no more than a symbol, but now the man it represented was actually here, and Sam can’t help but feel a bit sheepish as he thinks of his once fanatical obsession with the super soldier. He doesn’t believe in Heroes anymore, war has shown him that all men are just humans, no matter what kind of outfit they wear. The man in front of him still is just a human like the rest of them.

 

   A human who can run  really  fast.

  
  


   As the Captain continues to pass him, each time with the same polite “on your left”, Sam begins to get more and more frustrated. He doesn’t know why, but it’s annoying him that he isn’t as fast as the Captain, or maybe it’s the fact that the Captain isn’t as slow as him. He has always had a playfully competitive streak, and he finds that it is getting the better of him now. As Captain Rogers prepares to pass him yet again Sam increases his run to a sprint and calls back.

  
  


  “No, don’t say it–”

  
  


  “On your left.”

  
  


  “COME ON!”

  
  


   Sam sprints uselessly after the quickly disappearing man, huffing out the rest of his lap before collapsing against a nearby tree, finally ceding that, while he’s in good shape (if he does say so himself), no one on this planet would be a match for Captain America. He’s not entirely sure why he thought testing that out was a good idea.

  
  


   As he sucks in air he senses someone come up behind him and glances over to see the Captain standing there with a jovial half smile on his face.

  
  


  “Need a medic?” the blonde man quips and smiles a bit wider. Sam finds himself smiling back, its been a long time since someone actually snarked at him.

  
  


  “I need a new set of lungs. Dude. You just ran like 13 miles in 30 minutes.”

  
  


  “I guess I got a late start”, the man returns with the same playful expression.

  
  


   Sam is grinning now. He’s surprised at how comfortable he feels joking around with this guy.

  
  


  “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, you oughta go take another lap,” Sam gestures to the path with his hand and then pauses before looking back up, “did you- I’m assuming you just took it.”

  
  


  They both smile and Sam gestures a hand towards Steve, who obliges and pulls him up from the ground.

  
  


  “What unit are you with?”

 

  “58th Para-rescue. Now I’m working down at the VA. Sam Wilson.” Sam adds the last part, sticking out his hand.

  
  


  “Steve Rogers”, Steve returns the handshake.

  
  


  Sam chuckles, “I kind of put that together.”

  
  


   They talk for a while before Steve gets a text, and a second later an attractive woman in an even more attractive car pulls up to take him away, making a joke about museums and fossils that Steve takes good-naturedly as he climbs in. Watching the car speed down the street (was it just him or was the woman showing off?), Sam thinks about what just happened.

  
  


So that's Steve Rogers. He’s much more normal than all the tabloids make him out to be.

  
  


   He quashes down the small part of him that’s still freaking out about meeting Captain America and heads back to his apartment. He thinks that he can feel the tattoo again, a remembered pressure from long ago. The first of many scars he was to acquire in his lifetime, it remains the only positive one.

  
  


As he walks, he finds he doesn’t really mind the sensation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I would really appreciate any reviews anyone would like to give me. (especially on places where i'm wrong about the tense a word should be in, I was having a hard time with that in this chapter)
> 
> The next chapter should be up in the next few days. ^^
> 
>  
> 
> My tumblr: http://porcupine-custardbuns.tumblr.com/


End file.
